


A taste of apples

by localfreak



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22976980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localfreak/pseuds/localfreak
Summary: Pre-book. Crowley can't act on his desires, but that doesn't mean he can't fantasise - and he does have a very, very, comfotable bed.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 71





	A taste of apples

Crowley's bed was a thing of demonic luxury, from its imposing stature to its ridiculously expensive mattress to its sinfully silky sheets (black, of course). After all, Crowley enjoyed sleep and if he was going to enjoy a thing he was going to do it in the best and stylish way possible. 

Crowley also enjoyed lounging, dozing, daydreaming and other slothful activities and his bed was designed with all this in mind. Therefore, after a particularly chilly meeting with Aziraphale in one of their designated spots, which just so happened to be within walking distance of a rather interesting open-air art exhibition that Crowley both wished to attend and knew the angel would likewise be tempted by, it was only natural that when Crowley returned to his flat he would end up pouring himself into bed. 

The wind had been bitterly cold, which Crowley detested, although Aziraphale had looked ridiculously attractive with the flush of the wintry air on his cheeks and a long, caramel coloured scarf wrapped up to his chin. They'd shared a cup of hot apple cider from one of the street vendors and the taste still lingered on Crowley's tongue. 

And, of course, if he _had_ kissed the angel, the sharp apple taste would have been on Aziraphale's tongue as well. 

Aziraphale's lips had been distractingly pink and more than once Crowley had realised he had been looking too much at his lips and not listened to a word Aziraphale had been saying. He _really_ wanted to taste those lips. He had wanted to reach out and - but, of course, such things were totally off limits. If they were to- and be found by - well. 

It didn't bear thinking about. And both Crowley and Aziraphael were more than accustomed to not thinking about it. 

Still. 

Alone in his flat, Crowley - warm from the ridiculously hot shower he had taken on his return in an attempt to restore feeling to his extremities - lay on his silken sheets and allowed himself a little hedonistic daydream.

It began with Aziraphale's knees. Crowley had not seen Aziraphale's knees for over a century, probably longer. He'd probably last seen uncovered knees while they'd been wading through scummy lake water back when robes were _de rigueur_.

But Crowley had a very good memory. And a very good imagination. 

Aziraphale's knees were solid, pale, dimpled things well padded for kneeling in prayer or (more likely) crawling about looking at bottom shelves of bookcases or rummaging around for his little stashes of wine which, like the books in his shop, were generally located and organised in a system known only to him and him alone. 

Crowley imagined putting his hands on those knees and then running his hands further up. He groaned, already touching his own corporation, imagining parting those milk-pale thighs and kissing and licking wet trails up, up, up and then again along the lines of Aziraphale's hips. He imagined squeezing gently, running his fingers along the soft flesh as Aziraphale writhed under his touch and then.

Well. 

His hands would stroke along Aziraphale's balls, hot and heavy in his palms and slowly, methodically, he imagined gently touching them, his tongue laving a path over them in slow, deliberate movements. He imagined the softness, and the heat, under his tongue as he worked his way up and then along Aziraphale's cock. It would, of course, be beautiful. Crowley would take his time, he felt, using his fingers first and then following with his tongue and wet kisses along from the base to the tip. He imagined the heady scent of Aziraphale's skin, wine and honey and sweetness with a touch of lightning. 

Crowley, being rather a bit snake, of course, would have no trouble with the next part of this. This was the part he enjoyed imagining the most. He would open his mouth, his throat and swallow Aziraphale's cock down to the base and then...then he would look up.

Aziraphale would have his eyes half closed in pleasure, his pink mouth open and gasping, cheeks flushed and his expression - ecstacy. 

Crowley would swallow and move, hands around Aziraphale’s hips. He would feel the angel clumsily petting Crowley's hair as he did so. 

Aziraphale would be transported- the kind of expression he got when eating a particularly divine meal at a particularly classy restaurant magnified sevenfold. Crowley would drink him down, drink him deeply and Aziraphale would call out his name as he came...

Crowley bit out his own groan as orgasm washed over him and he kept his eyes closed tightly to cling on to his fantasy as long as possible.  
It slipped away despite his best efforts (it always did), leaving only impressions.

Pale, warm, clenching thighs, pink cheeks and the taste of apples on his tongue.


End file.
